


Comets in the Dark

by EtoileGarden



Category: Queen's Thief - Fandom, The Queen's Thief, Thick as Thieves - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Kisses, M/M, v gay boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 19:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11042616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: Unwritten parts of Kamet's journey to Attolia.





	Comets in the Dark

The first time it happened was at Hemke’s farm, amongst sacks of animal feed and bundles of hay.  
The Attolian was in an almost irritatingly good mood.  
He hummed as we laid our blankets on makeshift straw beds. It would have been irritating if he hadn’t be so good at keeping tune, and as it was I could put up with it, almost enjoy it.

“How can you be in such a good mood knowing we have to climb a damned mountain in the morning?” I ask as I stretch, and then curl under my blanket.  
As nice as it is to not be pressed bones to cold ground, straw does not make a comfortable bed, I was already itchy from the first of the straws poking through the blanket.

“Oh,” said the Attolian in mock surprise, “You’re not looking forward to it?”

He sits down next to me on his own blanket, but doesn’t make to lie down yet. Instead he wraps his arms around his knees and stares out, past the low walls around us and into the night. I hadn’t been expecting to get more answer from him, had already grunted in reply to his mockery. He addressed his answer to the dark air.

“Once we cross the Taymets,” He says slowly, “We’re all the closer to getting home.”

Again I think he’s finished. He’s not the biggest on long winded explanations and I figured this was answer enough. He turns to look at me.

“I hadn’t really been homesick until tonight,” he shrugs. “I’ve been too busy to be homesick. But singing and laughing with people who I’m not worried are going to kill us-“ he chuckles, “I miss my home. My friends. My language.”

I want to reach out, grip is shoulder in at least some small show of sympathy. I don’t, partly because I’d have to sit up to reach, and I’m warm under my blanket. Instead, I say,

“Ah of course, you are happy because you are homesick.”

He rolls his eyes at me and nudges me with his elbow.

“And they say I have no sense of humour,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling. For him, teasing was probably as affectionate as the touch to his shoulder I wanted to give.  
He finally lies down, but he’s facing me, eyes open and face serious, so I wait for what he has to say next.  
“Are you homesick?” he asks, very predictably, I think, but somehow surprising.  
I think about tossing out a throw-away comment, not really wanting to divulge more of my vulnerability to him.

“Yes and no,” I reply after a few long moments. If I was hoping that he would take my short answer as a sign of not wanting to talk about it, my hopes were dashed.  
“I take it you miss the comfort of soft beds, and don’t miss the pleasure of Nahuseresh’s company?” Costis guesses, both right and wrong.  
I think about telling him that he’s right, then rolling over to go to sleep. I think about telling him that he’s wrong, then rolling over to go to sleep.  
I roll onto my side to face him.  
“Of course I miss soft beds,” I said flatly, “But that wasn’t going to be my answer.”  
Costis smiles, pleased.  
“Go on then,” he says, “What would your answer have been?”  
I don’t have to think about it, it’s been on my mind since I left the palace.  
“I miss knowing what’s going on, what I’m supposed to do, knowing how to do it. Routine.”  
I prop my head up on my hand, my elbow digging painfully into the spiky straw. Costis was nodding.

“And what don’t you miss?” He asks, needling further. I want to act long suffering, as if it’s obvious I want to go to sleep and he’s keeping me awake, but I’ve already ruined that act by paying too much attention to him.  
“I don’t miss the tension,” I say after a beat of silence. Working for Nahuseresh was like walking on a knife edge even on the best of days. With him so humiliated in court and moody, it was more like walking on a mine field. I look up from my sore elbow to look Costis in the face to see if I needed to explain. I didn’t, he was nodding again – whether or not he understood was a different story though, I was sure.  
With that, I thought our conversation would be over for the night, and I roll fully over and away from Costis’ prying questions.  
I am almost asleep, my limbs are soft and heavy with it, when Costis speaks again.  
“Are you glad to be free?”  
It’s a stupid question and I want to stay silent, let him think I am asleep.  
“Technically I’m still stolen property,” I reply, keeping my eyes closed.  
Costis huffs, shifts noisily in the straw.  
“Will you be glad to be free?” He amends, and I can’t pretend to be asleep this time.  
Perhaps it is the darkness freeing my mouth. Perhaps it is because I am warm and full, and Costis’ voice is gentle. Perhaps I am just too tired to be thinking about my thoughts.  
“I am not sure if I will know how to be free,” I admit, my voice more mournful than intended and in response there is suddenly the warm weight of Costis’ hand on my back, the comfort that I was unwilling to lend him.  
“My king will help you,” Costis assures me. Probably the least comforting thing I could have heard, and I snort unwillingly. I expect him to take away his hand, offended, but he does not, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he says;  
“Of if you prefer, I will do my best to stop my king from helping you.”  
I nod. The urge to tell him that I will not be coming with him to Attolia is almost overpowering. I don’t need his king’s help, or his help in limiting his king’s help. His king will never meet me for any of that to be necessary.  
I wonder what would happen if I rolled over right now, put my hand on his chest and told him that my master was dead. That I was suspected, wrongfully of course, of killing him. That I was of no use to his king now, and I had no wish to go to Attolia where they didn’t have literature. That he ought to just let me go when we reach Zaboar.  
I can already imagine the confusion on his face, mixed with hurt, hurt or anger, I wasn’t sure which it would be. I doubted he would let me go. I didn’t think he would kill me, I know that he wouldn’t want to, but if he had orders that told him otherwise I didn’t think what he wanted mattered very much.  
I want Costis to shut up so that my mouth is less tempted to spill secrets that could get me killed.  
“Once all the politics of you being in Attolia is less,” Costis is saying, “I could show you round town if you’d like. I’m not sure if it would help much, but it might be something being able to walk freely in a town without worrying about being recognised.”  
I want Costis to shut up.  
I stay silent.  
His hand is still heavy on my back.  
“Kamet?” His voice is hesitant.  
I should just agree with him, then tell him goodnight.  
I stay silent.  
“Have I offended you?” he asks quietly, “I did not mean to.”  
I am horrified to discover that I am crying. My face is wet and my throat stings like I’ve been coughing for days. I am not sure if I am upset because of the fear of not escaping Costis before he reaches Attolia, or if I am upset because I would like him to show me around his town but I know that once he finds out about Nahuseresh either I will be dead or he won’t want to see me. Or both. Either way, it’s not worth the tears and I furiously will them to stop.  
He can feel the slight shake of my suppressed tears through my back, his hand still pressed in between my shoulder blades.  
“Kamet,” he says again, worry thick on his tongue, “What can I do?”  
“Go to sleep,” I choke out harshly, determined that this be the end of it.  
Costis does not go to sleep.  
His hand lingers for a moment longer on my back, then lifts and I think he is going to roll over and let me deal with myself. But then I hear him sitting up and his hand is on my shoulder. He levers me onto my back. I complain loudly, struggling to turn back over but his hand is firm and I have no hope of shifting until he lifts it. In compromise I turn my face away from his so that I don’t have to see his earnest worry and so he can’t see my tears.  
“If you think I am just going to lie here and peacefully go to sleep while you sob next to me, you are sorely mistaken.”  
I plan on telling him that I’m not sobbing, just crying a small amount, and if he won’t lie next to me while I cry he can always go outside. Instead, I sniff loudly and finally answer his first worried question.  
“You didn’t offend me.”  
“Well, that’s good to know,” Costis says, he sounds amused but I don’t want to turn my head to see if he is smiling. “Is that why you’re crying then? Would you like me to say something offensive? Imply that you look like a caggi maybe?”  
He is entirely ridiculous.  
“I look nothing like a caggi,” I mumble between halting breaths, offended despite myself.  
Now Costis laughs, “No. You are much better looking,” he agrees good naturedly, and reaches out to tap my cheek gently, “Even when you are crying.”  
I frown. Being told you are better looking than a caggi is truly not much of a compliment, but I still feel a blossom of warmth in my stomach. I wish he weren’t watching me cry.  
I turn to face him, giving up on unsuccessfully hiding my tears, and he blinks at me, then takes a corner of his blanket and leans over to wipe my eyes and cheeks dry.  
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, and I shake my head miserably, feeling petulant and stupid and sure that he wouldn’t disagree.  
“Alright,” he nods, “Then tell me what I can do to cheer you up even a little bit?”  
I can’t think of anything that would usually cheer me up, so I say,  
“Would you sing to me?”  
He looks surprised at the request, says, “I wasn’t so sure that you were a fan of my singing,”  
“You sing beautifully,” I say truthfully before I can stop myself.  
I’m not sure what I was expecting him to sing me, but in truth I would probably have appreciated any song he sang for me.

He sat up a bit straighter, but kept his hand stretched out on my shoulder, no longer holding me down, just resting, and started to sing. He kept his voice low and quiet so as not to disturb our hosts, and his pitch suited the melody perfectly. I think he must have felt I would have prefered a melancholy song in my mood, and I thought he must have chosen the most melancholy he knew. I understood the most of it, but between his low voice and my loud sniffs as I finally managed to cease crying, I missed some of the words. When he was finished I asked him what it was about.

He shrugged, “It’s a lyrical adaption of a myth about two lovers separated. According to the myth, their pain was so great that the gods themselves heard their cries and reunited them. It was my sister’s favourite song when we were younger.”  
I was surprised, I didn’t know he had a sister.  
“So the gods just did it out of the kindness of their hearts did they? I wasn’t under the impression that Attolian gods were very compassionate,” I said. In my experience with gods and religion, it was mostly show and cold hearts.  
“Well not entirely,” Costis said, “That was only the first few verses of the song. The gods reunited the lovers but told them that as the gods give, they take away, and as punishment for disturbing them, they forbade them from ever kissing one another. When the lovers protested, the gods are supposed to have said that there’s plenty they can do without kissing, and if they hated it so much they could be returned to their exile from each other.”  
“Alright,” I said, frowning, “So not out of the kindness of their hearts, but out of the fickleness of their hearts?”  
It was intriguing hearing Costis tell a story, clumsy as he was with if, I could tell that he enjoyed it. I didn’t think the song had just been a favourite of his sister.  
“So,” I said, “Is that the end of it? They live not quite as happily as they would have liked ever after?”  
“No,” Costis said, then yawned heavily, “No. As the myth says, they lived together happily for a year and a day before war broke out and soldiers were needed. Terrified of losing one another again, they kissed goodbye, knowing that they would prefer to have kissed each other one last time if they were to die. And then there are a few different endings, some happy with gods full of lenience, but the song finishes with the two of them dying on the spot, lips still pressed together.”  
I lifted my eyebrows.  
“It seems folly to me,” I said, “To risk it all over a kiss. Surely kisses are not so good as all that.”  
Lying back down now, seemingly content that I wasn’t going to start crying again, Costis stared up at the beams of the low ceiling above us.  
“I’m not sure, I think certainly some kisses would be worth dying for.”  
I roll my eyes at him, “I think you must have had more favourable experiences with kissing than I have,” I told him flatly and he grins back at me.  
“Or maybe I just have more imagination,” he says, “I don’t think I would happily die for anyone I’ve kissed, except maybe Aris, but not for another kiss.”  
I remembered Costis telling the caravan that his name was Aris, and I was intrigued.  
“Who is this Aris that you would die for?” I ask, well aware that now I’m the one keeping the conversation I so wanted to end going.  
Costis rolled his eyes to look at me from where he lay on his back.  
“My friend,” he said simply, but I badgered him further.  
“You say friend, but he’s a friend you kiss? You did not mention him when we talked of previous lovers before.”  
“That’s because he was never a lover,” Costis says, he’s smiling crookedly at me, his head tipped back, “The two of us have been in the guard together the same time, sometimes when he’s had a few wines and misses girls we kiss. Aside from that, he’s my friend, as dear to me as a brother.”  
“A brother you kiss,”  
“Thank you for that,” Costis replies flatly, but I don’t think I’ve pushed my luck too far yet.  
“Do you wish it was more?” I ask, because I don’t think I quite believe his casual manner of naming Aris as just a friend. Costis sighs at the ceilings so heavily I half expect dust to come falling down.  
“Does it matter?” he asks, and I elbow him, anxious for answers.  
“I used to,” He says shortly, “but I’m very well aware that nothing would ever have come of that, it’s not what Aris wants, we’ve discussed it. It’s been a long time since that happened, but we still love each other as friends. That is all I meant when I said I would die for him, but not for a kiss.”  
He sounded exhausted, as if explaining this was too much for him.  
“If you did die for him, though,” I say slowly, “Would you appreciate a goodbye kiss first?”  
Costis snorts.  
“I think I would appreciate it, certainly, but not for the same reasons as in the myth, Kamet. Why are you so intent on getting some sort of...romantic proclamation out of me?”  
I, for reasons unknown, blush, thankful of the dark.  
“I was simply curious,” I defend myself, “I hadn’t heard you speak so freely about such things before.”  
“Alright,” Costis says, he’s suddenly pushed himself up on his elbow, “Who would you die for a kiss from? There has to be someone, even if you don’t think so highly of kissing.”  
Years prior, I would probably have said Marin, but now that I know, or at least think I know, that she’s happy I didn’t think it appropriate.  
“No,” I say, “I’m a slave, remember? I don’t get to have such dear friends are freemen do. Nor such good kisses apparently.” I’m sure my voice is bitter, but it’s unintentional.  
I think Costis is going to push me for more like I had pushed him, but he just stares at me for a moment. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, which annoys me because with a face so open as his it ought to be simple.  
“Not a slave anymore, not truly,” Costis says, “And you can have me as your dear friend if you feel so deprived,” he offers. He’s grinning wickedly, but I know he’s serious.  
“As you say so,” I oblige him, “But even as a free man, still no good kisses.”  
“I can fix that,” Costis says simply, and then with no further preamble, he leans over me, takes my chin in his hand to tug my face towards him, and kisses me.  
It is, all too honestly, the best kiss I have ever had.  
It is not frantic quick kisses, worried of being caught by our master or another slave, it is not a kiss that tastes of too much remchik and anger, it’s something that twists my gut, and not with fear.  
When he pulls back, I stare at him, he raises his eyebrows.  
“Thank you?” I try awkwardly, “I certainly feel like a free man now.” I feel sarcasm is my best defence in this situation, and Costis laughs before shifting his weight back to his own blankets.  
“I live to serve,” Costis says easily as he lies down, shuts his eyes, goes to sleep.  
I lie awake, lips burning, stomach aching.  
I do not mention it in the morning, and neither does he.

The next time I blamed the fever. The fact that it was not me that was suffering it meant nothing.  
I sat next to him while he slept, hopefully getting better and not worse like my stomach was telling me. Godekker’s words were stuck in my mind, and I seethed with anger just to think of them. Maybe Costis was stealing me, but he had promised me nothing like what Godekker insinuated. He wasn’t even stealing me for his own benefit, and I had not left my master for something so foolish as love. I knew better than to believe the whispered tales of slaves who ran away with their freemen lovers. None of them, I was sure, would have had a happy ending. Slaves are slaves until they die, even if freed properly and officially by their masters, it is too hard to shake the subservience. I didn’t think I would ever truly think of myself as anything other than a runaway slave.  
However, parts of Godekker’s words stuck sharper than others. It was utterly ridiculous, but my mind continued to drift back to the memory of Costis telling me I was better looking than a caggi. I was sure that was not what Godekker would have been thinking of, but it made me flush to think that even some small sliver of what he said could be true. Of the rest? I wasn’t sure. Maybe his beloved King would send my master some tidy sum of compensation, or that might have been the plan before my master died, of course. Maybe once the king realised that I was of no use to him after all he would simply sell me off to another man, if, as Godekker said, I was that lucky.  
Of course, none of this had any consequence if Costis were to die before he could make it back to his home, his friends, his language. I sighed, lifted my hand to check his forehead and found it still burning. I wondered if this was some folly of the gods, like in the song Costis had explained to me.  
I had thought Costis dead and gone in the well, was already grieving, sick with it, when, like a god in a play the stranger had, probably without even realising it, persuaded me to return. Upon finding Costis alive, and seemingly well I had thought we were in the clear, I felt as if nothing new could go wrong after we’d escaped death. Which is of course where the gods like to trip you up, because when you are so full of hope it’s more entertaining to pop you. I could only hope that this would turn out like one of the versions Costis had mentioned with a happier ending, not in death all round.  
Still, I eyed Costis, if he was to die, who was he dying for? Lying here in this shabby cot in the middle of a land he couldn’t wait to get out of. Was he dying for his king, the brave, loyal soldier going where he’s told? Was he dying for himself? Or was he dying for my sake? For whoever he would have thought he was dying for, he certainly wasn’t being kissed for his efforts.  
I wondered, if I kissed him here and now to stop him from dying without even a kiss, would that then continue the turn of events in which as I kiss him he dies? Maybe he would be less likely to die if no one ever kissed him.  
Eventually I decided that if I couldn’t say for sure he was going to live, he certainly deserved a kiss, and because I hadn’t been forbidden by the gods to kiss him, he was certainly not going to die from one. So I glanced at the doorway, willing Godekker not to come in and think himself proven right. I cupped his face, hot and tight with fever under my palm, and kissed him very chastely on the lips. When he didn’t die immediately in my hands, I could still feel his breath against my cheek as I hovered, I sat back.  
Whatever happened next, was in the gods hands.

What I was sure would be the very last time, happened on the Dolphin. We were scheduled to dock at Sukir in the morning, Costis as well as the captain would have left the ship to go look for proof of the king’s seal, and no one else on the ship would question me leaving it. What my plan was next I wasn’t entirely sure. Simply that I would lose myself in the city and pray that Costis would give up looking for me sooner rather than later. I wasn’t sure if he would still leave with the captain who would be anxious to receive his money, or if he would send the captain away with promises of recompense and begin anew to search for me.  
I didn’t think he would find me. We would both be strangers in the city, and the one hiding is already at an advantage than the one looking because once I found a spot to hide I could stay put and reconsider, but he would have to get lost over and over again.  
I was not looking forward to it.  
As sure as I was that I must leave in the morning, that the king of Attolia would not be pleased with such a worthless prize as I was, I was reluctant.  
That evening I glanced at Costis with almost every second breath, cursing myself every time I looked away, not wanting to appear in a strange mood. I didn’t think he had noticed because he said nothing, didn’t return my constant glances. Until we were alone in our cabin, preparing for bed, our last night together whether he knew it or not.  
“Is something troubling you, Kamet?” he asks me as he is pulling his shirt off, and I find myself looking away from him again from another glance.  
“No,” I lie obviously, and he moves so that he can nudge me with his foot.  
“What’s wrong?” he tries again.  
I’m sitting on the edge of my bunk, leaning forwards over my knees, gripping my thighs, I must look like the very picture of discontent, but I can’t find the words to deny it.  
Costis is already getting worried, leaning down to look at me more carefully, his expression almost tender, and I sigh.  
“I’m just – I’m worried about our” (your) “reception in Attolia. I’m not sure what to expect.”  
I’m expecting the king to be angry, to feel cheated, not only out of stealing from Nahuseresh but because he wouldn’t even get to take that out on me. I am hoping, wishing, praying that he doesn’t take it out on Costis, that Costis is favoured enough that he escapes the fallout. I do not bother hoping that Costis will forgive me. Not for lying to him, and not for leaving him.  
Costis sits next to me, the bed creaking and dipping ominously with the sudden extra weight and it slides me against his side. He puts his hand on my knee and smiles at me.  
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he says reassuringly, “We will arrive quietly, only a few people will even know we are there. The king is kind, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”  
I smile tightly back at him, I am not worried about myself.  
My smile has obviously not convinced him that I feel any better about it, because he takes my hand in his and squeezes it.  
“Kamet,” he says and I close my eyes, “Kamet. I promise you, whatever happens, I’ll look after you. I do not think you have anything to fear in Attolia, but I won’t leave you until you feel the same way.”  
His words are so sincere that my chest burns. I want to push him away from me and tell him that I am leaving, that if he wants to protect me so gods damned much he ought to let me go. Not even he would be able to save me if his king wanted me dead.  
I don’t push him away.  
I don’t tell him I am leaving.  
Instead I think about goodbyes.  
I think about the fact that I will not get to say goodbye to him.  
To explain why to him.  
So I tug back at his hand as he starts to release mine, and I pull it round my body to rest on my hip.  
When I look up at him I’m sure I look desperate. He just looks surprised.  
I want to make some comment about how he better not die after I kiss him, but I don’t think my nerves can take it so I lean in and kiss him.  
Not like I kissed him the first time, which is to say, hardly at all, lying there in the hay too shocked at being kissed so beautifully to move my lips properly. Not like I kissed him in the shack at Godekker’s, just a brush of lips, an inhale.  
If he is still surprised I can’t tell, because he is kissing me back, his hand hard on my hip, his mouth insistent against mine.  
I kiss him until I cannot breathe anymore, until I feel as if my heart will knock a hole through my chest, until I am sure my fingers, clutching his sides, will have left small bruises to match the ones I can feel now on my hip bones.  
I wondered if it would have been better for us to be struck down dead while we still kissed.  
I know that it would not have been. We would both get over the pain and betrayal of my lies and leaving, but we would have no chance to if we were dead. Still.  
He is looking at me as if I am the answer to his every dream and I want desperately to tell him that I can’t be, and not because I don’t want to be. Instead, I let him kiss me again, and by that I mean I pulled him close and opened my mouth and he simply closed the gap between us.

I know I am making a bad decision by making this more than it should have been. It should have been just one kiss, one kiss to take with me. One kiss for goodbye. One kiss as an apology.  
Instead, he is taking them all, a myriad of apologies from my mouth to his, a hundred goodbyes.  
I refuse to think about how he must think of them.  
In the rocking of the waves, I lie miserable in his arms as he sleeps.

 

We sit shoulder to shoulder on a bunk in our shared cabin on the boat to Roa.  
Despite the ease of our dockside conversation I am eaten up with nerves. My mind is replaying over and over again his expression on the Dolphin when I told him of my lies. Hurt, humiliation, shock all easily read on his face. Then in the cells when he was still willing to talk to me and I’d called him an idiot. I didn’t think trying to advocate for him to the king really made up for all my bad behaviour towards him.   
“Kamet,” Costis breaks our silence easily. He had seemed content enough to just sit next to me while my mind scurried about in all sorts of different panicked directions, but now he looked at me like he had something to say.  
I look up at him, certain he is going to tell me that he can never forgive me, certain that he is going to tell me he would never trust me.  
“I was so naive.” Is what he says instead, and I gape at him, uncertain now.  
“Costis, I-“ I’m not sure what I was planning to say after that, but I didn’t need to figure it out because he lifts his hand and shakes his head.  
“Please,” he says, “Let me say this.”  
I sit still.  
“I thought that I knew how you felt on our journey. That we were on the same page,”  
My stomach twists.  
“And I was wrong. But it was my naivety to blame, Kamet. You had no obligation to tell me about your master, no proof that I would be understanding if you did.”  
I want to protest, to remind him of his soft touches. His easy kiss that night in the barn.  
“I think when you told me I was so angry because I thought of it all from the perspective of where we were at that point. We were absolutely friends. But we hadn’t been to begin with, and I understand that you must have felt like you could not tell me the truth after so long.”  
He puts his hand on me knee, it’s a very careful gesture, and I appreciate the comfort it provides.  
“I am so sorry,” he says, far too humbly, “I am sorry I was so ignorant.”  
I am speechless. I look from his face to his hand on my knee, back to his face, and shut my eyes against hot tears.  
Keeping one hand on my knee, he lifts his other to cup my face, stroking along my cheekbone with his thumb before it stills.  
“Kamet,”  
A long pause.  
“I don’t want to lose you. I promised you that I would look after you. That I wouldn’t leave you.”  
I sniff, not very keen on the idea of getting snot on his hand so soon after our reunion. Or ever, really.  
“You also promised to show me round town,” I mumble, “I guess we’ll have to do that in Roa instead.”  
It’s not much, but Costis looks delighted, he exhales with clear relief, then says –  
“Will you forgive me?”  
I laugh, stop quickly for fear of Costis getting the wrong idea, shake my head, nod my head.  
“Of course,” I say loudly, too loudly, lowers my voice. “Of course. Costis, I- You- Can you forgive me?”  
I’m not sure if it’s the soft but firm kiss pressed against my forehead, or the look in Costis’ eyes as he says, ‘always’, or simply the pure relief of being pressed against Costis again which causes the tears pricking my eyes to finally fall, but they do, always unbidden.  
Costis wipes at the tears with the palm of his hand, looks me in the eye, the both of us remembering the night he had kissed me first.  
This time I reach for him, press my lips against his, my tears against his cheeks.  
He kisses me back, not like the last night in the cabin, desperate and hot and hard, but soft and long like he knows he has a lifetime to do it in.  
When he pulls away my eyes are still wet but I’m smiling so wide I think I’m going to split my poor face in two.  
“I have thought of your song often,” I tell him and for a moment he looks confused.  
“The lovers?” he asks, and I nod.  
“I was so scared that we were destined to be them,” I say, “I am very much relieved that you see more similarity in the two of us and Immakuk and Ennikar.”  
He laughs and I let myself laugh with him.  
“So,” he says, “Immakuk and Ennikar? They were lovers yes? It certainly sounded like it.”  
I smile down at our laps, at our hands joined, “It depends on which scholar you ask,” I tell him.  
“Well I am asking this scholar,” Costis says, nodding at me and I feel as if I’m going to burst.  
“Yes,” I say simply, “They were in love.”


End file.
